Girl on Fire
by Langus
Summary: The Lost Boys take control of the Jolly Roger, trapping Emma and Hook in the ship's hold. With a bit of rum and a lot of unrequited sexual tension, the two reluctant prisoners discover new ways to pass the time. One-shot. Captain Swan.


_Girl On Fire_

They shouldn't have been able to overpower her that easily, but they had. One of the Lost Boys grabbed her roughly by the arm, his small fingers biting into her skin, and tossed her into the hold below deck. She hit the floor at an awkward angle sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting through her hip.

"Let's see you try and be the Saviour now!" the boys jeered then slammed the heavy iron grate shut. Emma slowly picked herself up off the floor and glowered at the ring of grubby faces leering down at her.

"Where's Henry?" she demanded, doing her best to sound authoritative. "Where's my son?"

The Lost Boys hooted and laughed, then slammed the wooden trap door shut plunging her into darkness.

"Damn it," she swore, turning in a slow circle. The hold was pitch black, without so much as a glimmer of sunlight peeking through to guide her. She'd never been afraid of the dark before, but this was different. This dark was impenetrable and alive. It moved and breathed and crept in on her from all sides. She pressed her palms against her eyes and focused on the raspy sound of her own breaths.

This wasn't happening. She was absolutely not having a panic attack. Hook's ship hadn't been commandeered by Pan's Lost Boys and Henry's life wasn't in danger. Her rapid heartbeat stuttered at the thought of Henry. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay!

Emma exhaled a weighted breath and lowered her hands. Henry wasn't going to be rescued if she wasted time being afraid. Right. Time to put her adrenaline to better use and find a way out. Maybe there was a door, or something she could stand on to reach the grate.

With her hands out, she shuffled step by careful step towards the nearest wall. Her foot connected with something solid and she froze. Every hair on her neck stood on end as she carefully slid her foot forward again. It met resistance and out of the darkness came a muffled groan. She lowered herself to her knees and felt around for the unfortunate figure trapped down here with her.

Her fingers brushed over something rough - a sleeve. She followed the arm up and across to a torso. Whoever it was was on their back, their chest rising and falling in even breaths.

"Hey," she whispered, without entirely understanding why she was whispering. She prodded at the chest beneath her fingers, gently shaking whoever it was awake. Another pained groan sounded in the dark and a hand wrapped around hers.

"Christ, that hurts."

That voice! "Hook? What are you doing here?" she demanded, stunned to discover that the Lost Boys had bested him as well.

"I gather "here" is the hold of my ship?" He shifted as though to sit up and then thought better of it and lay back. "Afraid my memory's a bit foggy on the matter, love. The better question is why you're here. I'd like to tell myself that it's out of concern for my well being, but somehow I don't think that's the case."

"I was looking for Henry," she lied, thankful for the darkness that hid her tell-tale blush.

She hadn't known Henry was in trouble until after. She'd gone looking for him, for Hook, to talk, to share her concerns about the changes she'd noticed in her son. If anyone would listen to her crazy theory it would be him. He never seemed to doubt her. Even when the challenges seemed impossible he was there with a reassuring word, ready to defend her against criticism and self-doubt. And then there was the fact that she'd missed him - missed the sound of his voice and his flirtatious looks and that teasing tone he only used with her.

"What do you remember?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," he drawled, his voice rough. "I left Granny's to return to the Jolly Roger for the night and the next thing I know I'm waking up in the hold next to a beautiful woman."

She can hear the smile in his words and rolls her eyes. Even in a hostage scenario he can't seem to resist. Gripping his hand, she pulls and helps him sit upright. He's in pain, she can hear it in his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak a word of protest.

"The question now is how do we get out of here?"

"It won't be easy. The only way out is the way we came in."

"So we'll need to find some crates or something to stand on. Got anything like that down here?"

Hook scratched thoughtfully at his jaw, the scrape of his fingernails against the stubble sounding overloud in the dark.

"I just might. Care to lend a hand, Saviour?"

After a bit of fumbling she found his hand in the dark and tugged him to his feet. He groaned softly and staggered, clutching at his ribs. She reached out to steady him, her hands slipping inadvertently around his waist.

"Thanks, love."

The warmth of his breath tickled her cheek and his arm wound lightly around her. The weight of it pressed into the small of her back was a source of comfort. She wasn't alone. She hadn't been alone since the moment he'd walked into her life.

Shielded by the dark, she closed her eyes and subtly breathed him in. The scent of leather and rum that clung to him had offended her at first, but not now. Recognition and relief spread through her like a warm shot of brandy. He was here to help and they would succeed, because when had they ever failed while working together?

"Don't mention it," she replied, her voice rougher than she would've liked, and reluctantly drew back. They didn't have time for pleasantries. They needed to focus on escaping the hold and finding Henry. The rest would have to wait until after.

"This way," Hook instructed, the lilt in his tone deceptively cheery. Keeping a light hold on her hand, he pulled her through the dark and deeper into the hold.

"How do you do that?"

"What's 'that', love?"

"Move around down here without missing a step! I can't see a thing."

"Years of practice," he replied simply. "I know every nook and cranny of this ship like the back of my hand. Ah, here we are."

He stopped suddenly and she drew up alongside him, her eyes searching the impenetrable dark for whatever it was he'd found.

"What is it?"

"Empty casks."

"Let me guess - rum?"

"I can't get anything past you," he teased, offering her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "I'm not certain they'll be tall enough, but it's worth a shot."

Working together, they managed to roll two empty rum casks across the floor to where Hook indicated and set them upright. Using his hand for support, she stepped on top of the barrels and reached up towards the ceiling. When her hands met only empty air she frowned and stretched up onto her tip toes, frantically waving them back and forth in the hopes of making contact with something that might give them hope.

"Damn it," she swore, slapping her hands against her thighs in defeat. "It's not high enough."

She jumped off the cask and exhaled a sharp, frustrated sigh. "Now what?"

"In situations like these, I find rum to be an excellent balm. Care for a drink?"

With a creak of leather and a pop of a cork the faint smell of rum filled the air between them.

"Really?" she said dryly.

"Come on, Swan. A little rum never hurt anyone," he goaded and with a quiet swish pulled a sip from his bottle.

"Henry could be in trouble."

"Aye, but there's not much we can do about it from down here. Conserve your strength, love. You'll need it when the fighting begins."

Emma expelled a long suffering sigh and reached for the rum. The scent of it was potent enough that it wasn't difficult to find. She took a long sip and then another, relishing in the burn as the alcohol slid down her throat.

"You really think there'll be a fight?" she wondered.

"Do you really think your parents will let you go without one?"

An amused 'hm' sounded in the back of her throat and she pressed the bottle of rum against his chest.

"Point taken. Thanks for the drink."

"Any time."

The next several hours crept past, the passage of time made irrelevant by the impenetrable dark. Mere moments felt like hours, stretched long and tenuous. The soft lapping of the waves against the hull counted out the seconds. From what Emma could tell, they had yet to cast off from Storybrooke and that was enough to give her hope. The longer Pan lingered, the better chance the others would have of taking back the ship.

Hook, to his credit, made the agonizing wait for rescue far more tolerable than it would have been otherwise. They'd spent the last several hours sipping on rum and exchanging stories about the various troubles they'd gotten themselves into. With 300 years beneath his belt, he had no shortage of tales to share and after a while she found herself content to listen. The sound of his voice eased her worry over Henry and made her feel safe. They may be prisoners, but she didn't feel like one. Not here, not with him.

"Why'd you become a pirate?"

The question had been rolling around in her mind for some while. She'd seen enough of his character to know that he hadn't always been a villain. Just like she hadn't always been a convicted felon. People had reasons for doing the things they did and there was more to his story. A bottle of rum in and she'd finally amassed the courage to ask.

"You mean instead of being an _honest_ sailor?" he drawled with a sarcastic chuckle. "The only thing that makes me different from them is that I am my own master. This ship, my men, we go where the winds take us."

When she didn't respond, he breathed a heavy sigh. His next words were soft, his tone filled with old pain.

"My brother Liam died because our king sent us on a mission to Neverland to collect dreamshade. He lied, telling us it was a magic cure when in fact he intended to use its poison to destroy our enemies. I thought our king was a man of honour, a man of integrity, but he was neither. I couldn't continue fighting for a man like that."

"And that's when you decided to become a pirate," she finished with an understanding nod. "I guess the 'piracy' part was payback?"

"More of an unfortunate necessity, I'm afraid, but after a while we did it for the thrill. Stealing gives quite the rush when done successfully."

She lifted a brow and took a quiet sip of her rum. If there was one thing she understood all too well, it was the rationalization that went with stealing from others. _I need this. It's only a little. They can afford it._ Theft was wrong, right up until you found yourself with nothing and no other way to survive.

"What - no supercilious judgement from you, Swan? I'm disappointed."

A sad smile touched her lips and she set her empty bottle of rum against the floor. "Eleven years ago I was sent to prison for stealing a watch. I spent the year before that living in a stolen car and taking what I could to survive. I've done my share of bad things, Hook. So no, I'm not going to pass judgement."

His boot shifted against the floor and he drew his knee into his chest. "You've not had an easy life, Emma, but things will get better."

"I'm the Saviour, remember?" she replied with a sardonic laugh. "I don't have the luxury of days off."

"Then perhaps you'll have to settle for moments."

Before she could think of another sarcastic retort his lips were on hers, his touch warm, soft and inviting. She let out a muffled squeak of surprise and jerked her head back, smacking it against the wooden cask she was sitting against.

"You all right there, Swan?"

The smooth sound of his amused chuckle reverberated between them. Emma glared in his general direction and rubbed the sore spot at the back of her head. She didn't know why she'd reacted like that. His kiss had felt nice and it certainly wasn't unwelcome, but it'd caught her completely off guard. She wanted to reach out and pull him back, but the fear of fumbling awkwardly for him in the dark kept her hands on her thighs.

"Sorry, yeah. I just bumped my head," she replied, sounding sufficiently annoyed.

"Shall I kiss it better?"

She could hear the smile behind his words and felt an identical one slowly creep across her lips.

"It only seems fair."

He shifted closer until his shoulder and thigh brushed against hers. She took in a breath and waited.

…And nothing.

Emma opened her eyes, seeing only darkness, and turned her face towards his. What was he waiting for? Then she felt it – the faint touch of his fingers on her arm, the tips lightly brushing across her skin. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she exhaled the breath she'd been holding. His fingers caressed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist and then curled around her palm, lifting it to his waiting mouth. The touch of his lips was brief but enough to send a jolt of awareness shooting up her arm.

"Satisfied?" he enquired, his lips hovering over the skin of her wrist.

"That's all you got?" she replied, her voice hoarse. How was it this easy for him to unravel her? A single kiss and she felt like a nervous teenager again, complete with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

Hook's hand slid up her arm and then across her shoulder, pushing her hair back. She closed her eyes and suppressed a shiver of delight at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. His lips skimmed down her neck and pressed a kiss into the hollow of her shoulder. She was aware of every subtle movement, every breath and gasp that escaped her throat. She'd never felt so aware of another's touch, never craved it like she did with his.

Hook placed another kiss just beneath her jaw, his lips lingering overlong before pulling away.

"And now?"

She swallowed and released a breathy exhale. "Better."

"That's all?"

Encouraged by her silence he tried again. With his good hand he cupped her chin and she heard the quiet creak of his leather jacket as he leaned in. His lips followed the line of her cheek, placing soft, featherlight kisses everywhere they touched. He kissed her forehead next, then the tip of her nose. She could smell the rum on his breath as his lips ghosted over hers and leaned in, seeking out his touch. Her head was spinning and she grabbed hold of his jacket to steady herself. With a teasing chuckle, he pulled away and trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat.

"Hook," she whined as her patience wore thin. Damn him for turning her into a needy, quivering mess. She needed the feel of his lips on hers almost as desperately as she needed air to survive. It was irrational and silly, but that was what he did to her. He made her feel things she'd never felt before – lust, need, uncontrollable want…

"Kiss me," she demanded with a tug on his collar.

"As you wish."

Without hesitation his mouth crashed against hers and a mutual groan of satisfaction was torn from each of them. Spurred by an insatiable hunger, she sucked in a sharp breath and pushed back, her lips moving over his – nipping and nibbling and sucking – encouraged by the eager noises that sounded in the back of his throat.

His hand wound through her hair to pull her closer and she opened her mouth under his, inviting him in with a salacious sweep of her tongue. A pleased grunt escaped her as she tasted him for the first time since Neverland. Now, as then, the rum clung to his lips in a mixture of sweetness and spice that was intoxicating entirely on its own. She tugged his bottom lip into her mouth and gently suckled on it in a rhythm reminiscent of other enjoyable activities.

Hook's guttural moan tore through the dark and his fingers suddenly tightened in her hair, sending a shot of liquid heat rushing through her veins. How had she ever survived without this? Kissing him felt as natural as breathing. They fit together perfectly, their bodies mimicking one another even in the dark as though they'd been designed to fit together all along.

There would be no going back. The first time she was able to brush it off as a spur of the moment decision, a little bit of fun, but this was something else entirely. There was nothing playful about the way she'd clawed her hands into the collar of his jacket or scraped her fingernails across the back of his neck. This was something raw, something carnal, that wouldn't be satisfied with only a kiss.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Hook pulled back. His breaths were ragged and uneven as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"And now?" His voice was hoarse with unspent passion and he swallowed thickly to try and clear it.

She chuckled and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. "Wouldn't you know, the pain's gone."

"That so," he replied and breathed a soft sigh. "Well if you're ever in need of my services again, Swan, you know where to find me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

A loud thump overhead was followed by several others and the dull roar of battle cries could be heard over the sound of the waves against the hull.

"Sounds like the others have arrived," Hook observed, releasing his hold on her. "What do you say, Swan? Are you ready to fight?"

His hand wrapped around hers and held tight they helped each other to their feet. They were standing close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating off of him. If she tilted her chin up ever so slightly his lips would be there, ready to devour her all over again. She took one last secretive moment to breathe him in and then stepped back. There would be time for that later, but right now she needed to focus on her son and helping the others take back the ship.

"I'm ready."

"I still think you'd make a hell of a pirate."

"Thanks. I'll take that into consideration," she teased, surprised by the smile that crept across her mouth. It'd been years since she'd felt light like this, overwhelmed by a sort of unreserved giddy excitement. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the trap door covering the grate was suddenly flung open and Charming's voice called out to them.

"We're here!" Emma called back before turning to Hook.

In the dim shaft of light that now made its way into the hold, she could see just how dishevelled he appeared – hair mussed, lips swollen and eyes glassy with drink and lust. Judging by the amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth she didn't look much better. There would be little doubt what they'd been doing down there, but it no longer mattered. Matching unstoppable grins lit their faces and then Hook's hand was around hers, helping her climb atop the empty rum casks.

"This isn't over," she promised under her breath, her eyes daring to meet his deep cerulean gaze.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Swan," he replied with a look that was anything but innocent.

She grinned and uttered a determined "Good" then grabbed hold of the rope ladder David had lowered and climbed out of the hold.

As he watched her go, Hook pushed a hand through his hair and expelled a weighted sigh, absolutely certain that if survived the day he would never survive Emma Swan. He shook his head at the thought, a wide grin cutting across his features, and grabbed hold of the rope ladder. What they had was fire and magnetism and desire all rolled into a complicated, unlikely, little package, but there wasn't a single part of him that wanted it any other way.

_Author's Note: _Another one I typed out on my phone, this time during a bout with insomnia. What do you guys think? Like it? Hate it? Would love to hear your feedback :D


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